


feelings i don't have

by mermaidsandswallows



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:40:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mermaidsandswallows/pseuds/mermaidsandswallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>of course they wouldn't realize what they had was beginning to form all along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feelings i don't have

Grantaire stumbles inside at around three in the morning.

_“Where are you going?” She was mad, of course. Enjolras only had two settings._

_“Out.” You tried to leave, but she grabbed your hand – the one that was holding onto the doorknob. The doorknob was cool, a stark contrast from the heat on Enjolras’ palm._

_“Don’t go,” her voice was barely above a whisper. The chatter from the main room died down, almost suddenly, and you just shook your head. Jehan rose from her seat, looking worried and gripping onto Courfeyrac’s hand, but Combeferre gently placed a hand on her back._

_You let out a broken laugh and shook your head. Jehan tore away from both Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and she sent glared at Enjolras for a good while before following you outside._

_Somehow, the two of you didn’t get into much trouble._

The lamp near the couch is dim, and Grantaire could have sworn that she already went out and got a new bulb. Either way, Jehan is slumped against her and babbling incoherencies about how Combeferre’s old glasses make her look so much more handsome. Grantaire had to carry her up two flights of stairs, and it’s a blessing that she’s so slight. Halfway through the trek, she switched languages into French, and all the giggling made Grantaire all the more uncomfortable. She could  _maybe_  make out a body out by the couch but Grantaire assumed it to be nothing other than a deceiving pile of blankets. Grantaire eventually grabbed Jehan under her knees and lifted her up bridal style before shuffling to her bedroom.

She nearly tripped twice.

Grantaire didn’t swear nearly as much as she would have, but Jehan ended up nearly dragging her down as well. “Mmmf. Thank you,” she whispered, giving Grantaire a sloppy kiss on the cheek. She didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that both Combeferre and Courfeyrac were camped out in Jehan’s room, but Grantaire would let her deal with that in the morning. She didn’t want to risk upsetting any one of them.

The question of where she would sleep was a big one, but Grantaire was never a permanent fixture in the house. Sure, she came by sometimes and often, and she loved Jehan to pieces, but it was strange to admit that  _Enjolras’_  apartment was more familiar to her.  Which is why she shuffled into the living room and took a while to find a place to crash. Of fucking course, they had to have the most comfortable couch ever possible, but Grantaire’s hand felt something else as she groped blindly in the darkness. Her fingers lingered there for a while, attempting to figure out what exactly was in her way.

“Jesus Christ what.” She furrowed her brows and blinked, trying to adjust to the darkness. Someone already claimed the couch, it seemed, and Grantaire couldn’t figure out who it was. Best case scenario, it was Bahorel. The figure was too skinny to be anybody but her – and she was the most possible answer. Nobody else would have stayed here. The figure groaned and shifted, before reaching out a hand to grab Grantaire’s arm. She expected calloused fingers and a rough palm, but the hand was smooth. As if it had never gone through any sort of physical endurance.

“Grantaire?”

Her voice was raspy, but it’s still strong and sure and Enjolras.

Grantaire gulped and nodded, “Yeah. Hi.” She didn’t dare speak any louder.

“Are you okay?” Enjolras’ hand found Grantaire’s own, and she pulled her closer after squeezing it. “I was really worried.”

“I—I’m okay,” she said, ignoring the burning at the pit of her stomach. “Now. I’m okay now. I think.”

“Good.” And like that, her hand let go and Grantaire swore she could hear the smile in her voice. “I didn’t want you thinking I hated you. Because I don’t. I really don’t.” There’s another rustle in the darkness before Grantaire’s hand is held again. “Sit down.” Enjolras’ normal voice is back almost, but the tone isn’t as commanding as she was used to. Grantaire obeyed, careful not to sit on Enjolras, and her hand was lifted to Enjolras’ face. She slowly lifted her free arm, and cupped the side of Enjolras’ cheeks. There was a small smile on the corner of her lips, and Grantaire felt that as she leaned forward and brushed their lips together.

Grantaire wakes up on the couch, and the first thing she notices is how goddamn white the ceiling is. There’s a body in her arms, and a mane of blonde hair is threatening to overpower her entire vision. On top of her is Enjolras, and Grantaire lifts a hand to stroke her face. She has the pinkest cheeks and the most determined expression as she kisses Grantaire’s palm.

“I love your hands."


End file.
